


French Kiss

by redtulipslove



Series: Running Circles Around Time [3]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Lust, M/M, Romance, Sensual Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 09:04:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15815757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtulipslove/pseuds/redtulipslove
Summary: This is the third story that stems from my over-active imagination and a need to fill in the gaps of those in-between days and moments that Elio and Oliver shared when they became lovers, but we never saw.It continues directly from the previous stories in the series, the first being "Undone" and the second titled "I know a place".Elio and Oliver return from their bike ride.  They are alone in the villa.





	French Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> I loved Elio speaking French in the film, and I have a feeling Oliver did too. So I decided to continue that idea in this story.

We got back as Mom and Papa were leaving. They were taking Mom's friend who'd arrived earlier to a new restaurant out of town. We talked for a while until they bid farewell. We left our bikes outside. 

The villa was cool and quiet. It was Mafalda's afternoon off. She had left some cold dishes in the fridge, and we ate standing up, ravenous. The ride back had been more tiring than usual because we wanted to get back quickly, to be alone. We drank two glasses each of Mafalda's smoothies that were everyone's favourites. Oliver's body was flush against mine, and every time he moved, I could feel heat coming off him in waves.

I placed my foot on his, and when he'd finished drinking, I kissed him hard, pushing my fingers through his hair, and his back against the counter. I was now hungry for something else, something only Oliver could give me. He seemed happy to reciprocate. He shoved his tongue in my mouth, rough and eager. Knowing he wanted me this much in return made my head spin.

"Where's Anchise?" he asked, kissing my neck and biting my ear. 

"He's in the orchard. Spending time with his peaches." I shoved my hands down his shorts, squeezing his ass which elicited a deep moan. "We won't be disturbed."

"I want to take you to bed," he said. 

"Notre lit," Our bed, I whispered. 

"Keep talking like that," he growled, his hips grinding against mine.

"Je veux dormir avec toi Oliver," I want to sleep with you, I said. 

He dragged me out of the kitchen. 

The sound of our feet slapping against the floor as we went upstairs echoed around us, and the window at the end of the landing flung itself open, banging in the breeze.

When we got to Oliver's room, he closed the door, which slammed heavily. We both smiled in rememberance, but there was no one to worry about hearing us today. 

'Come here,' he said, grabbing my waist and kissing me deeply. I tried to climb him but he pushed me down on the bed and flicked his tongue over my lips. I knew he liked me doing that to him, and now I understood why.

He looked at me intently, his finger and my tongue playing tag. 

"What are you thinking?" I asked, breathing rapidly as he continued to stare at me.

He smiled shyly. "I like the way you say things, when you say those things in French," he said. 

"What things?" I asked coyly.

"You know what things."

"Tell me," I said, stroking his face. 

"Take your clothes off."

I smiled. I wondered if he'd understood all the things I'd said today but I guess it didn't matter. He knew all my intentions were clear, whether they were in English or not.

"Enlever tes vetements," I whispered, tugging at a button on his shirt. He sat up and took it off. I held my hand out and he gave it to me. I pressed it to my face and inhaled the sweat and smell of Oliver. My senses felt overwhelmed by his presence next to me. I threw the shirt on the floor and kneeled up to face him. 

"Allongez-vous sur votre front," Lie down on your front, I asked him. He looked puzzled, but complied anyway. I straddled his hips, and slowly stroked his back, moving my body in time with the action of my hands. I was hard but I wanted to think about only him. Judging by his moans, he was enjoying the massage, and the pressure of my cock against his ass. 

I wanted him to surrender to me.

I pushed his shorts down slightly until his ass was exposed, and kissed both cheeks before leaning over to grab the vaseline. He didn't stir, and seemed content for me to do whatever I wanted with him. 

I hadn't topped him yet, and wasn't sure if today was the right moment. But our ride to the Berm had made me aware of time running away from us, and I wished for it to slow down so I could revel in the delight of touching him undisturbed and unhurried. I relished having him under my control, and him giving the reins to me, but I wasn't sure if that control would extend to him offering his ass to me, yet. 

I lay next to him and kissed the eye I could see - the other one was pressed deep into the pillow.

"Are you relaxed, my love?" I asked.

He groaned in reply.

I brought my hand to his lower back, stroking the dip there with my finger, and slowly moving down to the crack of his ass. I watched as the finger pushed in, and I probed for the spot that had made me see stars two nights ago when Oliver had finger fucked me into oblivion. When I had recovered, I vowed to do the same to him. 

He seemed to approve of this development, as he lifted his ass slightly and opened his eyes to look at me.

"What are you waiting for?" he said.

"Patience is a virtue", I said, my finger pressed slightly inside, but not too deep. 

He leaned over until his face was up close to mine.

"I don't want to be virtuous," he said. "I want you to make me come."

I snaked my tongue in his mouth and kissed him hard, and he responded in kind.

I pushed my finger in deeper and began to fuck him roughly. The friction of his cock against the bed was aiding him and I could tell from the sounds he was making that he was not going to last. I now wished I'd foregone this part and skipped straight to him fucking me, but Oliver was too far gone, and besides, it turned me on to see him give himself so freely to me, to know that my finger in his ass was giving him this pleasure. I was making him moan and writhe in front of me, and me alone. 

I wanted to pleasure him always.

I added another finger and he came quickly, pushing his face further into the pillow as he moaned out his orgasm. 

"Regarde moi," Look at me, I said, as I stroked his ass before bringing my hand to the back of his neck.

He opened his eyes and smiled sleepily at me. 

"I just came in my shorts," he said. 

"I've fantasised doing just that many times," I grinned. "Getting to see you do it was way better." This was partly true. My fantasies had extended to him fucking me whilst I was wearing his shorts. Maybe I'd tell him about that some time.

He raised himself up on his hands and knees, and I had to take a sharp intake of breath to stop myself from purring like a cat.

"You look very pleased with yourself," he said. 

"I like pleasing you," I said, stroking his face.

He placed his hand on my hard-on and began stroking me.

"I want to please you too, will you let me?"

"Yes," I nodded, "Please."

During the first couple of crazy days we got together, he went down on me so many times I lost count. He seemed to lose himself in the act, wanting each time to be better and more satisfying than the last. He made me come so beautifully every time, that I always wondered how it could be bettered.

He pushed my shorts down and took me in his mouth. Despite him coming himself only minutes before, he seemed to have renewed vigour as he sucked me off so wonderfully. I grabbed his hair with both hands, something I knew he loved and would encourage, shoving his face into my crotch, knowing how close I was, wanting relief, but not wanting it to end. I loved the noises he made for me, and how much his desire came to the surface during these unfiltered moments. It would overwhelm me so I had to close my eyes for fear of shouting some inappropriate obscenity and ruin the intense moment.

"Fuck, yes," I cried, and Oliver held on to my hips as he swallowed me down. He finally released me and kissed my hip before collapsing next to me. 

"Fuck yes, indeed," he agreed.

xxxx

We slept for a while, his arms wrapped tightly around me. My favourite position. My favourite place. 

When I woke up, the sky outside had changed from late afternoon to early evening. The breeze blew the curtains around and the sound of the clattering window on the landing created a rhythmic sound that helped steady my own.

Olivers arms were big and strong and I couldn't imagine a time when they would not be there to hold me, restrain me, control me, protect me. I kissed his chest, and felt him stir, his nose in my hair.

"You do a lot of sleeping," I said

"Someone keeps wearing me out," he said. 

My hand moved delicately over his chest and I tweaked a nipple.

"I can't help it," I said, "I want you all the time. And we only have a little bit of that left."

I didn't mean to change the mood, but my head was tortured over every passing moment, even when those moments were the most wonderful of my life.

He squeezed me tighter in response. Sometimes saying nothing was the safer option.

We lay there in silence, save for the birds singing outside, and the hum of the villa that had a melody all of it's own.

"The words you said to me," he said, bringing me out of my funk, "at the Berm."

"Yes, I remember."

"Say them again."

I tried to keep myself together, as I recalled the line I'd whispered to him that day.

"Que mes baisers soient les mots d'amour que je ne te dit pas," Let my kisses be the words that I don't say, I said.

He kissed my head softly. "You're talking about kisses and words, right?" 

"Yes," I said. 

"I wish my French was better - I could reply in kind."

"You reply just fine," I said.

"I could listen to you talk in French all day," he said, "and Italian, and English for that matter. I could listen to you talk all day, period."

I was thankful that my head was on his chest so he couldn't see my reaction to such a declaration. 

"I just like talking to you," was all I could think of to say in reply.

"Then never stop talking to me. In any way, or any language, you want."

I finally brought my head up to look at him, saw the open smile on Oliver's face, and my heart felt like it could burst. 

Our lips touched, and I spent the rest of the night talking to him in the best language I knew.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story! Kudos and/or comments are always gratefully received! 
> 
> More to follow soon!


End file.
